The White House Connection

'He's older than you are, that means he's got it right more often. On the other hand, how often has he been wrong?'

'I'd rather it didn't happen on our patch if it is going to happen,' she said.

At that moment, there was a flurry of movement at the entrance and the Prime Minister came in with a small entourage.

'Come on,' Hannah said, and moved through the crowd to Ferguson, Dillon at her back.

The three of them stood together, watching the Prime Minister's progress as he shook the occasional hand or paused for a few words. Finally, he reached the American Ambassador, Cohan still with him. There were smiles all round. In fact, it was the first time Dillon had seen the Senator smiling.

'He seems happy enough now,' Ferguson said.

'For the moment, sir,' Hannah observed. 'Only for the moment.'

The emcee, resplendent in a scarlet coat, called, 'Ladies and Gentlemen, the Prime Minister.'

All conversation died instantly as the Prime Minister moved to the microphone. 'Your Grace, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. We live in exciting times. Peace in Ireland is literally within our grasp and what I want to say to you is this

He finished to considerable applause and was away in an instant, glad-handing his way to the door with his people.

'Now what, sir?' Hannah asked.

'From the look of that splendid buffet, I'd say eating time is here,' Ferguson told her. 'So let's get to it.'

'What about Cohan, sir?'

'You two take turns dogging his footsteps.'

'Although if anything was going to happen, it wouldn't happen here?' Dillon said. 'Is that your drift?'

'Exactly.'

Hannah said, 'I'm not so hungry, so I'll take first watch.'

'As you like, my dear. I see he's still with the American Ambassador.'

She turned and started to push her way through the crowd.

Cohan stood with the Ambassador and a number of people in the corner, which was some sort of protection against the crowd. He was drinking too much and sweating, all down to stress, of course. He felt awful and the truth was he was frightened. He hadn't said a word to the Ambassador about his present situation. After all, how could he? He'd noticed Ferguson, Dillon and Hannah Bernstein earlier and in a sense, their presence made things worse. He reached for another glass of champagne, as a waiter hovered and jolted a rather pleasant-looking woman standing close by.

'I'm terribly sorry.'

'That's quite all right,' Helen Lang told him.

At that moment, Cohan saw Hannah Bernstein pushing her way through the crowd and was conscious of immense irritation. Why in the hell wouldn't they leave him alone?

The Ambassador put a hand on his shoulder. 'Are you okay, Michael? You're sweating.'

'Oh, sure,' Cohan said. 'I started a cold on the flight over.' Suddenly, he realized that, for the moment at least, he had to get out of there. 'I'll just run up to my suite and swallow some aspirin.'

Helen Lang, close enough to hear, turned at once and worked her way through the crowd. She paused at the door to check in her purse for the passkey that Hedley had given her, then walked out.

Cohan finished his champagne, saw Hannah standing close by at one of the bars, a glass in her hand, and his irritation turned to anger. He started to push through the crowd, reached the ballroom entrance, paused briefly to check behind him, aware that she also was on the move, then made for the men's room and went in. It was busy enough for him to have to wait. He really was sweating now, and found himself checking faces in the mirror. He clashed water on his face, took a hand towel from the attendant and dried himself.

There were several men going out together in a rather boisterous crowd. He moved out behind them, was aware of Hannah Bernstein glancing the other way towards the ballroom. He took his chance, dashed away and made it to the lounge. His irritation was immediately eased. It was as if he'd won a victory, small perhaps, but a victory. He reached the foyer, went to the elevators and punched the button.

Hannah gave it ten minutes, and was still standing there against the wall when Dillon arrived. 'I was looking for you. Where's our friend?'

'In there.' She nodded at the door. 'I saw him go in, but he hasn't come out.'

Dillon smiled. 'Some things are still beyond the powers of even politically correct coppers. Leave it to me.'

She waited, watching the crowd, swollen now by late arrivals. Finally, Dillon emerged, pausing only to light a cigarette. 'Not a sign.'

'That's strange, he definitely went in.' She was aware of a sudden touch of anxiety. 'Let's see if he's in the ballroom,' and she led the way back.

Helen Lang's passkey worked perfectly. She was into Cohan's suite instantly and closed the door. It was very luxurious. An excellent bedroom and bathroom, a shower room and a superb panelled sitting room. The maid had drawn the curtains. Helen slipped through, slid back the French windows and stepped on to the terrace. Hyde Park was opposite, the lights of the city beyond. Down below, Park Lane was crowded with traffic. She felt strangely nostalgic standing there. It was raining slightly and she moved under the canopy, lit a cigarette and waited.

Cohan got out of the elevator and hurried along the corridor, his heart pounding. Christ, what's happening to me? he thought. I need a drink. He reached his suite, got the door open and moved inside. He opened the doors of the Chinese lacquered bar unit, poured a large Scotch, his hands shaking. He took it down, then poured another. What in the hell was he going to do? He'd never felt like this ever. Everything was falling apart. It occurred to him then that the one person who could possibly tell him what to do was Barry, so he went into the bedroom, got his mobile from his travelling bag, returned to the sitting room and phoned him.

Barry, still at the safe house in County Down, said, 'Who is this?'

' Cohan. For God's sake, what's going on?'

'What do you mean?'

'Look, I spoke to the Connection. I know all about your escapade in London last night. I've had Brigadier Charles Ferguson and this Dillon guy on my back and they told me.'

'And what did they say?'

Cohan told him everything he could remember. 'The Connection said you were here to protect my back.'

'So I was.'

'Dillon said you were here to knock me off.'

'Who do you believe?' Barry asked. 'Your friends or that little Taig shite? We're in this together. We'll sort it together. When are you due back in New York?'

'Tomorrow.'

'Excellent,' Barry lied with his usual smoothness. 'There are things happening that you don't know about, but all your doubts will be resolved, I promise you.'

'Okay, okay,' Cohan nodded. Til stay in touch.'

'You do that.'

Barry thought about it, then phoned the Connection. 'I've just had Cohan on the line from London.'

'And?'

'He's coming apart. You've got to do something.'

'Such as?'

'Couldn't you arrange for him to be hit by a truck when he gets back to New York?'

'I'll give it my consideration,' Thornton told him, and rang off.

Cohan put the mobile phone down and picked up his glass. 'Why in the hell did I ever get mixed up in all this?' he whispered. He put the glass to his lips, the curtains opened, and Lady Helen Lang entered, the Colt. 25 in her right hand, the silencer in place.

Chapter Ten

'What in the hell is this?' Cohan demanded shocked at the appearance of this grandmother-looking person with a gun. And she looked familiar somehow.

'Nemesis, Senator, that just about sums it up.'

'Now look here.' He was blustering now. 'If it's money you want.. .'

She laughed. 'No, that's not it. Remember those old movies with the highwayman demanding your money or your life? In this case, I'd prefer your life. I have money.'

Cohan was horrified. 'Who are you?'

'Sit down and I'll tell you.'

He subsided into one of the sofas, shaking like a leaf. 'What is this?'

'I think it's what they call in those old gangster movies on television, payback time.'